


Hallowed Ground (Extras)

by jojo-inserts (gallerypieceisahotsong)



Series: Hallowed Ground [2]
Category: Jorge Joestar - Fandom, ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: (only in one part and it's labelled), Gen, Jorge Joestar - Freeform, Jorgeverse, Other, bros i just wanna write, its been ages, may contain spoilers for Hallowed Ground (at times)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:35:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22221160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallerypieceisahotsong/pseuds/jojo-inserts
Summary: Extra canon-compliant (not necessarily canonical) content for Hallowed Ground.| 7.) Illustration | Updated 5-14-20 |
Series: Hallowed Ground [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599541
Kudos: 5





	1. Tutor (Narancia and Margherita)

Narancia thinks about an old friend.

__

“Try it again.”

“It isn’t working!” Margherita snaps at him. “You think I’m not trying? What else would I have been doing for the past hour?”

Narancia bites back a few choice words and scratches his head instead. It’s not like Margherita is the only one frustrated here. “Well, all you can do is try again,” he says. “Or we can have someone try to kill you. That’ll summon your Stand for sure.”

She eyes him coldly. “That _isn’t_ funny.”

“Maybe I’m not joking.”

She sneers, turning on her heel and crossing her arms in a very stand-offish and elaborate manner, as if inviting him to comment again. But he doesn’t. She’s acted like this every single time he’s tried to help her, and he’s tired of it by now.

Narancia doesn’t hate her or anything, but she’s really only got one personality trait to show off, and he’s had his fill of incendiary comments for the day. So he takes the passive aggressive way out - surely the way she would have wanted it - and simply goes into the house, shutting the door behind him. It’s mean, sure, but it kind of makes him laugh… though he does feel bad about it.

He fetches a cold soda from the minifridge next to the bar, popping the tab and taking a long drink. He could probably screw around for a good twenty minutes before Margherita even turned around and realized he was gone. But he won’t. That’s a level of pettiness he reserves exclusively for Mista.

What he does do, however, is take a seat on the couch and put his feet up on the ottoman. It’s amazing how exhausted he is when they didn’t actually practice sparring at all. This was… what, his third day of training her? It felt like he’d been doing this for lightyears. 

... _Which isn’t a measurement of time, but distance,_ Narancia mouths to himself, taking another sip of cola. Fugo sure drummed that one into his head. 

The room suddenly feels quiet, and a little cold. Narancia sits up and leans forward, resting his elbows on his legs. He swirls the can around gently. 

Was it fucked up for him to miss Fugo so much? They weren’t really friends. They were friendly, but they had never clicked like Narancia had with Mista. Fugo never ‘clicked’ with anyone. The closest he’d ever seemed with anyone had been with Abbacchio, and Narancia was sure he only felt that way because they sounded nearly identical when they got mad at him.

Yeah, he thought to himself. All Fugo ever did was get mad at him. And for stupid reasons. Taking the last soda out of the fridge without telling anyone, kicking his shoes off in the middle of the hall instead of putting them where they were supposed to go. Never cleaning his room - like that was his business? Come on.

But that wasn’t really true, was it. Fugo had plenty of legit reasons for getting mad at him. Never listening when he should have. Ignoring his advice and then getting hurt because of it. Acting like a stupid little asshole instead of appreciating the time Fugo took out of his day to sit down and try to help him learn. 

Narancia smiled to himself. Trying to teach something to somebody was hard. He had never really thought about it before, or tried to put himself in Fugo’s shoes. He was always just frustrated at his own lack of understanding and he wanted to blame it on somebody else. 

He sighs. The fact that he’s thinking about this so heavily is probably a sign that he’s got to step up.

The door slams open, thrown open wide as Margherita marches into the room. Narancia downs the rest of his soda and leans over to set it on the coffee table. 

“Do you think that’s funny?” Margherita asks, her hands on her hips. She stands over Narancia and bends at the hip to look down at him scathingly. “Just running off like that?”

“I did, yeah. A little,” he says. But he shakes his head and drops the smile. “Sorry, I won’t do it again.” 

“You better not,” she says, and straightens back up. But she doesn’t say anything else. She looks a little surprised that he’d apologized, and now it seems like she doesn’t know what else to say besides another biting comment. She’s stuck.

Narancia takes the high road for once. He pushes himself up off the couch, taking and letting out a long, deep breath. “Well, back at it.”

“Huh?”

He offers Margherita a nonchalant smile. “You still want to learn to use your Stand, right? We can’t get anywhere until you can summon it when you need it.”

She swallows, still stuck in place like a deer in the headlights. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

Narancia walks to the door and opens it for her, letting in a gentle breeze and the scent of flowers from Giorno’s garden. “Trust me, you’ll get there,” he says, and it surprises him to find that he really means it. 

Margherita takes a hesitant step, then, as if picking up on the change in Narancia’s tone, she meets him at the door. She still has a hint of a glower to her gaze, but his demeanor has her off-kilter enough that she can’t manage one of her signature bratty comments. 

“Yeah, if you’ll actually teach me,” is all that she can mutter. But it doesn’t have her usual bite, and - as if she’s embarrassed by her own tone - she ducks her head to one side and storms out into the garden.

Narancia can’t help but laugh - just once, lightly, but he laughs nonetheless, and he feels a strange sense of fondness for the girl. He shuts the door behind him and wonders if Fugo had ever looked at him the same way.


	2. Honesty (Giorno and Mista)

Giorno gently takes a small leaf between his fingers, the rough texture pleasant on the skin of his fingertips. There aren’t any blemishes, not on this leaf or any of the others. His roses are as healthy as can be.

Next he tests the soil, gently padding it down. It’s a bit dry. He gently raises his watering can and lets loose a small rainfall, making sure not to overwater. 

“Gardening by hand? What, are you that tired of your Stand already?”

Giorno dips his head, a small smile rising to his lips. He sets the watering can down next to the pot in his window and turns around, resting his back against the wall beside the sill.

“As a matter of fact, Mista,” Giorno retorts amicably, “that’s exactly it. I’m ready to put Stands as a whole by the wayside. I may just leave Passione, too, while I’m at it.”

Though his tone isn’t much different than usual when he makes a joke, Mista is always able to pick it up. He smiles. “About time,” he shoots back, crossing his arm. “You should hear the things Abbacchio says about you.”

“Still?” Giorno questions. “And here I was, thinking I’d become so popular with you all.”

“Oh, no, you are. Abbacchio is just a bitch.”

Giorno spits out a laugh, hurriedly covering his mouth. He shakes his head slightly. “Alright, that’s enough,” he says, but his small smile has cracked into a half-grin. He hides it with his palm for all the good  _ that _ does. “What did you want?”

Mista joins Giorno by the window, his back bumping against the wall on the opposite side. The sunlight, bright but gentle, shines in a wide slice over the rug on Giorno’s floor. “I have to have a reason to say ‘hi’ now?”

“Excuse me for assuming,” Giorno humors, and he shuts his eyes. The room is quiet, the garden outside likewise. He hears only the sound of a soft wind and the clock across the room. “But you  _ did _ want something.”

“Only to see how you’re doing.”

Giorno opens his eyes. When he turns his head, Mista is looking at him, his arms still crossed and one foot pressed against the wall behind him.

“It’s hard for all of us, even if we don’t show it,” he says. “Not knowing where to go from here. Not knowing who we’re chasing. I don’t want you beating yourself up over it or thinking you’re not doing enough - trust me, you are.”

“Have I seemed a little down and out lately?” Giorno asks with a soft smile.

“No, but I know how you are. You never ‘seem’ anything. If I don’t check up on you every once in a while, I’ll never know what’s happening.”

“Is that so.”

Mista taps his fingers against his arm. “You don’t have to do that, you know,” he offers. “You can let your guard down around us. It has to be tiring keeping up that business attitude all the time.”

“A little late for that, now. I’m kind of used to it.”

“Well, that was a little crack right there,” Mista says softly, but then he frowns. His fingers tap again. “I’m just asking that you open up a little. For your sake, not mine. And it doesn’t have to be a lot. Hell, I’ll even take a ‘Not great’ when I ask how you’re doing. At least I’ll know you’re being honest.”

“You think I’m dishonest?” Giorno asks.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Mista says. “I know you’re not lying. You just… kind of ignore everything, and that’s what’s easy for you. Abbacchio does it, but with him it’s obvious what’s eating him - and when Narancia does it, I know something’s wrong, but he won’t tell me what it is. I just think it would be good for us to… relax, a little.” He shrugs. “Maybe I’m the only one who feels this way, but by this point, I don’t think we should be hiding things from each other anymore.”

He falls silent again. They stay with each other for a little while longer, but then Mista straightens himself up and excuses himself. 

“I’ll let you get back to it,” he says. “I know I interrupted you.”

“Well, I was practically done,” Giorno responds. He looks off to the side, not quite focusing as Mista heads to the door. “Mista?”

He stops. “Yeah?”

“I appreciate you checking in on me.” Giorno turns away, facing the window and placing his hands around the roses’ pot. It’s warm to the touch. “I know Narancia does, too. And Abbacchio will handle things in his own time, as always.” He runs his thumb over one of the flowers, gently spreading open the petals. “It helps, having you here.”

Mista chuckles from somewhere behind him. “‘It helps,’ huh? Thought I would get a little more than that.” But it’s playful banter, and he doesn’t mean it. Giorno can always read the tone in his voice, even without looking. And he can tell without looking when Mista has left the room, leaving him alone with his plants. He smiles to himself, scooting the small pot into the sunnier corner of the window sill.

Yes, everything is looking good after all. 


	3. Standoff (Chapter 20 Illustration)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might upload some sketches like this as we go along  
> * to view image on mobile you can either hold and select "view in new tab" or view desktop site


	4. Beyond* (Jorgeverse) (Spoilers?) (Dubiously Canon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is not COMPLETELY canon necessarily this is shit I'm throwing around while also finally finishing Jorge Joestar. also read jorge joestar if you want it's certainly a Ride. Dealing with a (potential) plot point that hasn't shown up in Hallowed Ground yet. Mostly this is 1500 words of Jorge Joestar fic that amounts to nearly nothing shddsgds but it's relveant, sort of, I promise. You can ignore this and not miss a damn thing. spoilers for Jorge i guess but how would you even tell

“I just need a moment longer.”

“I’ve already said I won’t kill the boy.” Kars looked at me like he was sort of offended. But I wasn’t worried about him killing Joseph. Maybe I should have been. But the baby in Erina’s arms was the least of my worries at the moment.

I took a step past the empty cradle. There were large bookshelves against the wall, reaching all the way up to the tall ceilings. The Joestar manor was bigger and taller than practically any building I had ever been in before. 

“Doesn’t it feel weird in here?” I asked. Kars and Erina looked at me. I wasn’t surprised; neither of them knew the things I knew, or could feel the things I felt - or if they did, not with as much clarity.

**Clarity?** Hardly. I was giving myself a lot of credit with that one.

I stepped past the cradle; and then I turned around, and spun in a little circle, not really on purpose, but something tickled the back of my neck and it felt like somebody was looking at me. I looked up at the tall ceiling, dark in its deepest reaches. I looked at the ceiling and wondered if it would be more poetic or more clear if I was looking up deeply into the sky, but we were inside, and it wouldn’t do to walk all the way outside again just to make a point.

“It feels weird, right? Suddenly?” I asked again. This time it felt more obvious than it ever had before. 

Erina remained silent, holding the baby Joseph Joestar more tightly, but Kars seemed to feel something now and he looked up at the ceiling, too. “More removed,” Kars said. He didn’t explain it but he didn’t have to.

“Right!” I agreed. The Ultimate Being was quick. I wondered just how Ultimate he was. The Beyond was the be-all-end-all for my life, at least for the moment, and it had been for Tsukumojuku when it had been his turn, but I didn’t think that other people could feel it. Or maybe they could? Maybe they could only feel it sometimes. But Kars wasn’t really a person, and maybe being in space brought him closer to Beyond, depending on where you might think Beyond existed…

Enough of that. I was giving myself a headache. Kars could feel it, too, and that was enough for me to put credit in my assumption.

“Miss Erina, are there any special books here?” I asked. “Are any of these books different than all the others?”

“I wouldn’t think so,” Erina said. Her voice was as calm and poised as she was herself. “I’m not so sure what you’re asking, but none of them are particularly valuable. And we don’t have any in Japanese, either.”

I touched some of the spines of the books on the shelves. I didn’t know what I was waiting for. Maybe a spark or something would run down my arm and I would know I found the right book. 

Footsteps sounded right outside the door and Penelope stuck her head into the room. “Japanese Jorge,” she said, and I wanted to tell her off for talking to me differently just because I was Japanese, but then I realized it would probably feel weird for her to call me just ‘Jorge,’ so I let it go. “Are we leaving soon? I don’t want to wait around here any longer! Not when I can finally do something to help!”

“Sorry!” I said, and then I said, “Oh, wait! Penelope - I’m looking for something special in this room, like a special book. Do you have any ideas?”

She blinked. She came into the room, bouncing a little bit with every step, and she came over to the shelf and stood next to me, and then turned to look at me. “What do you mean, ‘special’?”

I didn’t know for sure, so I didn’t pretend like I did. “This might sound weird, but… if we were living in a story, and we had to take one book from this room with us that would be important later, what would it be?”

She looked at me like I was crazy, but then she actually thought about it for a second. “Well, does it have to be a  _ real  _ book?” she asked. I shook my head no.

Penelope’s fingers roamed over the books until she pulled one out -  _ A Study in Scarlet  _ by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Fitting for her to choose a detective novel! But what did she mean by a ‘real’ book?

My question was answered when she pulled out a few sheets of folded paper from the middle of the book. “Jorge - …  _ our _ Jorge, I mean, kept a sort of diary about some of the crazy things that had happened to him. Normally I wouldn’t let you see this, but he’s not here, anyway, and clearly you know what I mean by ‘crazy’ things.”

We both looked at Kars. He looked down his nose at us. 

I took the papers from her. There was no spark or funny feeling when I touched it, but what did catch my eye was a large blank space at the bottom of the last page, like it wasn’t finished yet. I also noticed that English Jorge’s handwriting was very similar to mine. That made me feel a little bit closer to him, somehow. Even though I didn’t know him.

“This must be it,” I declared aloud, and everybody looked at me, but that didn’t matter. Beyond wanted me to have this. Maybe it wanted me to finish writing it. Or maybe I was just supposed to read it. Either way, I knew this was what I was looking for.

“Thanks, Penelope.” I stuffed the papers back into the book and shut it. “That’s all I needed. We can go now.”

I thanked Erina, and she smiled gently. It made me feel safe and warm, even though I knew we were about to embark on a very dangerous and bizarre quest. But everything leading up to this point had been just as bizarre. It wasn’t unusual.

Erina walked us to the large front door of the Joestar Manor and shut it behind us. We approached Das Boot and climbed inside, shutting the hatch. It was the five of us - me, Kars, Penelope, Pucci, and Narancia. What a team, I thought to myself. None of us seemed to match in any way and yet here we all were, stuck together with nowhere to go but forward.

Das Boot set off. Penelope began to tell us a little bit about herself and about the situation England was facing. We listened in shock and awe, hardly believing what we were hearing. I popped open the copy of  _ A Study in Scarlet  _ that Penelope had given me.

Kars handed me a pen. I didn’t really want to know where it came from, but I took it. As Penelope spoke, I wrote down what she was saying; and when she was done, I wrote more, about the things I was thinking and the things that I had seen. The words came out easily, like they were being cherry-picked and only the best were going to end up on paper.

“Who the hell are you writing this shit for?” Narancia asked as he pushed his head against mine, trying to sneak in and read my words. “We won’t need to read it if we’re hearing it out loud!”

I thought about it. I wasn’t really writing it for anybody, I guess. I just felt like the right thing to do. “Well, somebody might need this,” I explained.

“Who?”

“Somebody,” I said.

Narancia groaned. “That doesn’t answer my question!”

“Sometimes, we don’t have all the answers,” I said. “We have to leave them up to a higher power.”

Pucci nodded sagely. For an astronaut, he sure seemed to value religion far above science. Kars nodded, too, and Penelope looked at me strangely, but with maybe a little more understanding than she had before. Narancia was the only one who couldn’t seem to stand not having an answer.

“Alright, alright, fine,” I said. If he wanted an answer that bad, I’d give him one. 

I scrawled his name in big, easy-to-read letters at the top of the first page. “There. Are you happy now?” I said, shoving the paper against his chest. He took it and squinted at the rest of the text. 

“I can’t read English, dipshit!” Narancia snapped, shoving the paper back against my chest instead. “This is worth fuckall!”

“Maybe I wrote it for a different Narancia,” I said, giving him a hard time. “One who bothered to learn.”

“Ughhhhhhhhhhh! I’m gonna beat your ass!” he shouted. “There’s only one of me, you dig?” 

Out of nowhere, Kars said, “There’s at least thirty-six of you by my count, boy. Hopefully at least one of them is less shrill than you are.”

That made me laugh out loud. Who knew such a being had a sense of humor? Narancia only got madder and madder, and kept threatening to shoot me. Penelope looked nervous, like she thought he might actually do it, and Pucci spoke to the girl comfortingly, very much reminding me of a man of the cloth. I closed the notes back inside the book and forgot about them for the moment.

The narrative moved forward; things changed, things were lost, and things were found. I won’t bore you with the rest. I know when it’s time for the story to revolve around someone else.

\-- 九十九十九 --

Elsewhere, in a time and world apart, a man named Artemio Basilico buys a used copy of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s  _ A Study in Scarlet _ , and finds a hand-written manuscript inside. He doesn’t understand the full scope of the story it contains, but he is a man who believes in an intelligence Beyond his own. He keeps it safe. 

Whoever ‘Narancia Ghirga’ is, he’s sure the papers will find him in due time.


	5. Chapter 24 Illustration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the worst part about writing a long fic is all of the art i have done that i can't share for spoiler reasons T_T i can't wait to post the pics when i'm able to so in the mean time please enjoy koichi falling off the back of a truck


	6. Illustration (Scampi and Orzo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya boys!!  
> this is basically the only pic i have that's not a spoiler, maybe i'll make a separate collection to show illustrations that can't be posted yet (bc i have sooooo much stuff haha)


	7. Chapter 25 Illustration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a pic of our mysterious informant from Chapter 25. Moving into the main events, now! Exciting stuff!!


End file.
